uh uh listen to ts while reading ( i hope it matches ) https://youtu.be/1XLhptKFko4?si=d_7VnbJH3rlvtiSJ With a heavy feeling that something was terribly amiss, Anton sat close by to his daughter, Dahlia, who laid still in her bed, with the two being silent in anticipation, only knowing they had one another, not more, not less. In order to soothe himself and his daughter, and to ease the tension that bound them together, Anton went and sat upon a stool, behind what vaguely appeared to be a Celesta, which had been highly modified as he had tinkered with it many times before, and with unsteady fingers on the keys, he would try to play one tune he had composed before, for someone special. However, be it by the passage of time, or for reason far beyond what either Anton or Dahlia could understand, the idiophone rung with a tone very much off-kilter, far removed from their familiarity of it from the years before. Before any more could be played, Anton pulled back his fingers wearily for a moment, startled by how worn the idiophone’s song became. However, this would not stop him, for he began pressing once again, not to resume his song, but to familiarize himself with this foreign but alluring palette of tonal hues. After a brief session of reconciling with notes worn away by time, Anton began to play his song once more. Due to the natural wear and tear from years of unuse, the music slowly crept forth as Anton began to play the idiophone, blossoming with sounds foreign and colors new, and with his tense disposition slowly melting away, evaporating, dissipating, until he could feel his psyche much less bound by worry, so much so, that he was tranquil, beginning to drift off, but keeping awake through. Not long after, Anton saw a weak, delicate smile forming on his daughter’s face, as she listened to him play, reminding Anton of her likeness to her mother; his beloved Anne. Soon, his own music struck a chord within Anton, resonating in such a way that brought him to reminiscing, with him remembering the many memories he had of having loved Anne, and with the memories tugging at his heart one by one as if he were a marionette, guiding his fingers and immersing him in a bittersweet nostalgia. In an attempt to speak, Dahlia tried to utter a few words, but her voice would fall short, however, Anton knew what she wanted to say by heart, he knew what she wanted to say just as much as she knew him being familiar with her words. “I love you too, dear.” Anton said. As he was nearing the end of his composition, he could feel himself becoming more helpless to the beckoning stupor, as his music lulled him as his lullaby would for his daughter, yet he insisted on persisting, trying to remain upright to the best of his ability, trying to keep his eyes open, trying to keep his fingers going. Mustering up what was left of his strength, Anton approached ever closer to the last seconds of his song, before the last of the notes he played signed the end of his song, echoing and ringing throughout once he had finished. After Anton released his almost heavy fingers from the keys, he looked towards his daughter, only being able to assume she had simply fallen asleep as he felt overwhelming languor, and with great struggle, he slowly strained to get off of the stool, stumbling towards her. Despite his best efforts, Anton would then fall flat onto the floor, collapsed, exhausted, unable to get up, and unable to remain awake, as he lay sprawled right beside his daughter, right beside his now resting Dahlia.
